Imperfections
by Yamerarenai
Summary: What if Seto wasn't all that he seemed? What if a certain disorder plagued him and no one knew? What's Isis doing to complicate this further? .. Has the author gone nuts?


A/N: I have the most awful writer's block. I promise to get my other stories up soon, but this is just something that I had to write. For those of you who've never heard of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, it is real. In fact, I have it, and have to deal with it ever day. ( --; I'm mean; I stuck Seto with my symptoms. ) From personal experience, I describe it as the unresistable urge to fufill whatever it's telling you to do, and you break down in tears if you're not able to. Well, this may be a little weird, but it's one of a kind and I'm proud of it. Here's the first chapter! Oh, and go educate yourselves!  
  
Seto Kaiba inwardly cursed as the speaker infront of him droned on about something or other concerning business. It was true that these kind of meetings could be frivolus and boring, but that wasn't the reason for the C.E.O.'s annoyance. No, it was a secret; long since masked by his strive for perfection and completion. Now, though, it was attacking.  
  
The icy-eyed male shifted in his seat; eyes clamped shut and face pale. If one were to just glance at him quickly, they'd most likely label him as sick, but it was far from the truth. It was true that this attack made him sick, but he himself was quite healthy. The only thing making him this pale hue was the anxiety building in his stomach.  
  
Before he knew it, Seto had given in. The fight was over, and now he found himself lightly hitting his left arm. It wasn't an act that could be easily picked up on, but still held a great deal of significant value, for it was the trigger to the next step. It was now that his right arm was hit in the exact same place, and another hit was administered to a little lower on the left arm.  
  
A few others in the room had now begun to ignore the speaker in order to concentrate on that of the teen C.E.O. It was most likely that none had seen a show like this, and neither were they about to forget it. What had started out as a few simple hits on the arm had now successed to scratching of the face on both sides, tapping a pencil with alternating hands, and all out 'insanity.' The meeting was a mess.  
  
Not wanting to hear a word from any of the others, Seto immediately stood and dashed out the door. It was his company, after all, so there was nothing much that they could do to stop him. By this point his hands had found their way to his side, but his mouth was open ever so slightly. If one were to watch his lips, they could tell that he was counting each step carefuly.  
  
There was one concrete reason for all of this, and Seto hated greatly to admit it. For almost as long as he could remember, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder had plagued him. Because of this, there was always a need for assurance that very rarely he asked for, perfectionism, a social phobia, a slight fear of contamination, and a dire need to be symetrical. It was his curse, and he hated it dearly. Despite that, the C.E.O. refused all medications.  
  
His only exit, the front door, even seemed to prove as a challenge. If both hands weren't placed in the middle of the door as he exited, the attempt would be nulled and he'd have to do it all over again. It was an irritated process that often times proved to be time wasting. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get away with skipping the process.  
  
Be it that he was in denial or just didn't want to deal with the problem, Seto was careful to leave a great distance between himself and his company before slowing to a walk. He knew he'd have to face the others in the meeting sometime or other, but it could wait. Mokuba knew the routine of making up some outlandish story, and sometimes it even worked. The only problem was that the attacks were getting worse and worse. Once triggered, there was no stopping them.  
  
Carrying himself in a confident manner, the icy-eyed boy quickly let all of that slip away from him. Today would be his day out among the town, and he wasn't about to let it keep him from relaxing just a little. Too much would leave consequences for him to clean up, but just a little couldn't hurt. Given that, he wandered aimlessly through the small town of Domino.  
  
It was a wonderful day, given the sun was shining and the air was a moist mixture of both warm and cold. The breeze lifting his dark brown hair even seemed welcoming in a way; almost as if the weather had brightened in order to help his mood. Not many were out, but the few that were proved to be amusing. A few children here and there, and an enraged parent or two, but mostly the streets were for him alone.  
  
"Mokuba's wrong," Seto mumbled to himself as his deep eyes fell shut. The disorder had once again squrimed its way into his mind, despite the barriers he'd attempted to put up. With it, it had brought its best friend--guilt. "I'm fine. I'm fine, and I don't need anything for this. Mokuba's wrong." It was a daily routine.  
  
"I'm sorry to interupt your conversation with yourself, Seto Kaiba, but I believe that the youth can sometimes know better than the adults," came from someone to his right. Even with his eyes closed, though, Seto knew the voice's owner in no time. They'd had many exchanges, and despite the fact she'd annoyed him, Isis always seemed to be found somewhere near.  
  
"You're one to talk," he shot back quickly with a sneer. "Your brother's a psychotic killer, still running around here somewhere but in hiding now, and you're running around saying 'listen to the children'? I don't mean to burst your bubble, or maybe I do, but you're wrong." It was the perfect responce; well thought out and aiming at a weakness.  
  
Clearly it had hit just the right spot, for the ebony haired female at his side fell silent for a moment. Studying his face in order to pick up any clues as to why he was roaming on his own and muttering about his little brother, she spoke. "I think you just don't get out enough." Apparently she wasn't as bad at comebacks as he'd thought, for that one hit its target also.  
  
Still, all was going relatively well for the C.E.O. He didn't need to tell her anything that she didn't have to know, and as an added bonus he had a nice round of insulting exchanges. ( A/N: ^^; Contradiction or what? ) That was, of course, until her elbow lightly brushed across his arm. It was an action hardly to be noticed, except for that of Seto. He begun to squirm, once more fighting off the effects of his disorder.  
  
There was no way in the world that he'd break down and tell her of the thoughts running through his mind, and therefore there was no way he could give into the cravings then and there. Though the opposite elbow begged relentlessly for contanct, he refused to oblige it; through it all keeping a straight face. Isis, meanwhile, had begun to grow suspicious. 


End file.
